


My son?

by jamepa



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamepa/pseuds/jamepa
Summary: Treviile is charged with creating a new regiment of guards.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	My son?

**Author's Note:**

> This is only my third fic. A 'what if ' that wouldn't let me go.  
> I do not own the Musketeers...more's the pity

Jean Treville made his slow way between the tents. He had orders from the young, King Louis XIII , to form a regiment of guard for the King's personal protection, Louis was terrified of being assassinated like his father.   
So Treville was searching among the French army, and he only wanted the very best, to form an elite company, a brotherhood.  
So far he had found Michel, a man well seasoned in warfare, a fine swordsman and good with horses, and Charles, who stood at well over six feet and was a great wrestler as well as a fine shot. Both men had sworn their allegiance and were fiercely loyal to both the King and Treville.  
Suddenly a gunshot broke through his thoughts, followed by loud cheering and laughter, Intrigued, Treville turned and made to way towards the sound, he came to a clear area beyond the tents where a group of soldiers were standing around a young man, one slapping him heartily on the back.  
"See, I told you that the kitten could do it, no problem".  
"Yeah, well's'not too 'ard to hit a bottle at that range, let's make it a real challenge...hey boy...I bet my purse you can't hit a cup from..." Treville watched with interest as the speaker dragged the target the bottle had been standing on back a good twenty paces and placed a small earthenware beaker on the top..."Here".  
The young soldier focused on the target, raised his arm and...the beaker shattered! The surrounding men cheered and laughed, the boy pocketed his winnings, grinned , shrugged and turned...Treville thought his heart would stop. Angelita! He was looking at the face of his beloved Angelita, the black, unruly, curls, the warm, dark, shining eyes and that smile...The world seemed to tilt.  
"Sir,sir are you alright?" The boy asked, head cocking to one side as he spoke, just as she used to do.  
Treville blinked and took a deep breath, the world righted it's self.  
"Yes, yes I am fine" he answered " I was...just very impressed with your marksmanship...how old are you?...sorry...it's only that I have never seen anyone as young as you with such an eye".  
"The kitten is only eighteen" One of the soldiers said " He is pretty amazing, finest shot in the regiment and, I would vow, in any other".  
The boy grinned and shrugged "It's a gift".  
"Why do you call him the kitten?",  
"Well,it's all that soft fur, is'nit " The man laughed ruffling the boys hair "And those big Spanish eyes".  
Treville felt his stomach lurch. Spanish !  
"C'mon kitten time to eat" The soldier tipped his hat to Treville and walked away, the boy began to follow.  
"Wait" Treville called " What is your real name?".  
"Rene...Rene Henri D'herblay..." The boy bowed with a flourish"...but i prefer the name Aramis".  
Aramis smiled at Treville again, nodded and ran off after his companions.  
Treville, closed his eyes and took a deep breath...how long ago was it he last saw Angelita...seventeen years, eighteen? No... it was nineteen years, just before he was posted to Calais...she had said she might have news for him and would tell him next time he visited her...but he had never gone back and had lost touch with her. Years of soldiering had healed his broken heart, but now the pain flooded back...the boy with her face had to be her son and...could it be? ...his. Treville felt his head spin and heart pound. The timing was right...it was possible...But the name, D'herblay ? ...perhaps he was clutching at straws...dreaming, but...could it be?  
He needed to speak to the boy again, urgently.  
Treville made his way to where the soldiers were gathered round a cooking fire, over which hung a large cauldron.Some of the men moving off with bowls of savoury smelling stew.He spotted the boy, Aramis, perched on a crate,a little distance away, eating. He was alone so Teville approached.  
"Looks good".  
"Mmmm" the boy looked up at Treville "Want some? there's always plenty".  
"No...thankyou... I'm fine...Do you mind if I sit with you?"  
Aramis looked surprised but shrugged and move along the crate giving Treville room to sit.  
They sat not talking for a moment, then,Aramis wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and placed his empty bowl on the ground by his feet, then, pulling a hand gun from his belt, along with a piece of oiled rag, began to clean it.  
"That's a fine looking piece" Treville said "Yours?"  
Aramis grinned "Yes".  
"How could you afford a gun like that?"  
Aramis grinned again " I couldn't , I won it in a bet...Robert was not pleased" he shrugged,"But it's not my fault if God gave me a talent, in fact it would be a sin not to use it, don't you agree?"  
There was a sly twinkle in the boy's dark eyes.  
Treville was silent for a second then burst into laughter.  
"Yes,Aramis,I agree we should all use the gifts God gives us" He paused " May i ask you a question?"  
The boy stopped polishing the long barrel of his firearm, and cocked his head at Treville.  
"What do you want to know?"  
Treville hesitates, unsure what to say, he ran the tip of his tongue over his lips and swallowed.  
"Your father... D'herblay was it?..." He began hesitantly " What was his occupation?"  
"My father? He was a distiller, he made peach and honey Brandy...Why do you want to know?" Aramis gave Treville a wary look and shifted along the crate. "Do you know him?"  
"No, I don't know him...it's just.." How to continue?..."I just wondered if he is French...I don't mean to be rude , but you have a very Spanish look about you."  
"Ah... My mother was Spanish".  
"Was?"  
Aramis looked away sadly.  
"She died when I was fourteen...I didn't know until two years ago".  
Treville was shocked and saddened for the boy's sake...and his own.  
"But surely your father told you..."  
Aramis suddenly stood and turned angry eyes on Treville.  
"Him! No..he didn't tell me.." He took a deep breath trough his nose "D'herblay wasn't my real father, he...bought me from the' Madame' who ran the brothel, my mother had been ill and couldn't earn her keep" He said bitterly, "I was too young to work, my mother was desperate and he needed a boy to harvest fruit..." He stopped abruptly, " But why am I telling you all this...Who are you?"  
"My apologies" Treville stood" I am Captain Jean Treville, I am here looking for men to form a new,elite, regiment of the King's own guard".  
"What has that to do with me Captain?"  
"I think I could find you a place in that regiment"  
The boy looked stunned.  
"Me...you think there could be a place for me?.... Why?"  
Treville turned his head... what was he thinking, he knew nothing about this boy ,except the few facts Aramis had told him...it was a risk...God, he was letting his heart rule his head. He turned back to look at the young soldier... His son?   
"I have seen you shoot...and I have a strong feeling about you...I am rarely wrong. Of course there would have to be a trial period" Treville continued speeedily in case he had a change of mind."I must speak to your commanding officer. Adieu for now".  
Treville turned sharply and hurried away... What had he done?

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM 

Aramis soon proved his worth.  
Though his hand to hand fighting required work, he would often find himself pinned to the ground by a grinning Charles, He was a good swordsman, light on his feet and with the grace of a cat and, under Michel's tutelage, soon became a fearsome opponent with a sword. He was also a natural horseman at ease in the saddle. But his greatest skill, by far, lay in his talent with a firearm, be it handgun, arquebus or the mighty musket, he rarely missed his target and could reload faster than anyone Treville had ever seen.  
It was Louis who gave the fledgling company it's name. Demanding to know the progress Treville had made, The King watched as Treville proudly showed of Aramis' skill with a musket. The young monarch, delighted, clapped his hands declaring that his guards should be called "Musketeers!"

The years passed, the Musketeers grew in number and reputation, both in time war and peace.  
The Garrison flourished. Soldiers came and left.  
Charles lay buried in the small cemetery. Michel had married and retired with Treville's blessing.  
New recruits joined, Jerome, Luke, Tomas ,Marsac.  
Among the finest was Athos, a taciturn, private man, who, one day, had walked into the garrison asking for a place in the ranks. Aramis had held out a friendly hand, and despite the man's drinking habits, he proved himself a fine swordsman.   
Treville , again let his heart rule his head.  
Another was Porthos, a tall broad and very strong young man.  
Treville had found him in the streets of Paris, facing down an angry mob who were trying to apprehend a small ragged, terrified young boy clutching a stolen loaf. Together Treville and Porthos had dispersed the mob, Trevile has paid the angry baker and taken Porthos into the garrison.  
Aramis, after being tossed into a pile of hay in a wrestling match, had straightway taken to the young giant. So, Treville's heart won again and Porthos became a musketeer.  
Whether Aramis shared his blood or not, Treville had grown love him as a son, though the young man caused the Captain more than one headache with his mischievous ways and joy de vie. But Treville was a fair man and showed no favouritism.  
The Captain had decided to send a troop of recruits on a training exercise to the border close to the Dukedom of Savoy. Although it was early spring the weather was still very cold, Treville thought that some of the boys needed toughening up. He sent Aramis and Marsac to lead the troop.  
Before they left, to his surprise and discomfort, Treville received orders from the King to inform the duke of Savoy of the location of the camp. He was not happy.  
But a good soldier always obeys his orders  
In the cold light of dawn, Treville stood with Athos on the gallery outside of his office watching as the young men prepared, excitedly, to set off. Porthos pulled Aramis into a hug, then slapped him heartily on the shoulder, Aramis laughed and punched Porthos' shoulder, then gave the order to mount, and with a wave back to Treville led the Twenty two young musketeers out of the gates and away towards Savoy.  
FIN,


End file.
